


no limits just epiphanies

by blackkat



Series: Agen Kolar prompts [5]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Flirting, Alien Cultural Differences, First Kiss, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Agen digs his fingers into the silver-veined bark, smiling a little. Pushes upright, flicking his hair back behind his shoulder, and pulls his outer robe off, draping it over a branch. “A trooper in distress,” he says, stepping forward. “I believe Jedi are supposed to rectify such things.”Two pairs of dark eyes snap to him, and Fives's widen with glee. He wriggles harder under Echo's pinning weight, like a landed fish, and cries, “General Kolar, help! I'm being overrun!”
Relationships: CT-21-0408 | Echo/Agen Kolar
Series: Agen Kolar prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941664
Comments: 19
Kudos: 509
Collections: Star Wars Alternate Universes





	no limits just epiphanies

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Agen/Echo and while he didn't have official men of his own, he often borrowed a few for missions in the same area as whatever company he was near. Now, watching these clones sparring and playfully taunting each other... Well. He supposed he saw reason for the aura of contented affection, and how one could want to surround oneself with such. Now to see how they faired against a Jedi.

Agen had meant to come and watch just out of solidarity, a commander looking in to be sure his men had everything they needed. Hadn’t wanted to intrude, or distract, or put a damper on anything, but—

Agen curls his fingers a little more tightly into the trunk of the silver-veined tree and breathes in. Holds it for a long, long moment, and then breathes out, carefully deliberate.

On the patch of thick green grass that covers the small clearing, Echo and Fives are grappling. They're locked hand to hand, straining against each other, and Echo is laughing as Fives protests. Agen finds he can't quite look away from Echo’s face, the brilliance there, the humor and intent as he pushes Fives back. They both feel…content. Easy, despite the mission the squad just finished, and Agen meditated his own tension away, bled out the lingering traces of fear and anger and disgust at the Separatists’ treatment of prisoners, but this—

This is a clone trooper’s way of easing stress, and Agen can feel the familiarity of it, even if he doesn’t know it himself.

Fives's heel hits a clump of grass, and he wavers for just an instant. In the same moment, Echo gives a crow of victory, shoving forward, and Fives shouts as he’s toppled backwards. They hit the ground hard enough to make Agen wince, and there's a tangle of limbs, a shout, a hissed curse as they go rolling across the grass. Fives comes up on top, slamming Echo’s hands into the dirt, and lets out a taunting “Ha!”

Instantly, without hesitation, Echo twists his whole body, gets a foot flat on the ground, and jerks around, slamming Fives face-down into the dirt and leaping on his back. Fives shouts, annoyed, but Echo is too quick, grabs Fives's hands and twists them up behind his back, sprawling his full weight on top of them as Fives squirms.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Fives complains. “Echo, what the hell was that?”

“Some of us paid attention when Blitz was teaching us throws,” Echo taunts, grinning, and Fives curses at him, still struggling. He’s grinning too, though, and there's nothing of offense in his emotions, just adrenaline, elation.

Agen doesn’t have a battalion of his own. Given his familiarity with Hutt space, and Separatist inroads there, that’s where he’s spent most of the war, though the Council has called him back for meetings where his physical presence is required or for missions that need his particular skillset. When he _does_ have a mission that needs more than just a Jedi to execute it, he tends to borrow ARC troopers and whatever men the closest army can spare, but—

Like this, watching Echo and Fives, feeling their simple joy in movement and familiar closeness, Agen maybe regrets more than most times that he doesn’t have a squad of his own. Their bright emotions are a ballast, smoothing down the rough edges the war has raised in his soul, and Agen closes his eyes, leaning against the tree. Basks, just for a moment, in the warmth of it, and wonders how the Jedi would have survived even this far into the war without the clone troopers to steady them. Jedi aren’t made for wars; they’re peacekeepers. Without a reason to fight, without souls to steady them, there would be far more of the Order lost already.

The fact that the Jedi were forced into service as generals is a terrible thing, especially over an army of men bred and built solely for war, but Agen will never regret serving alongside the clones. Not for anything.

“Echo, come on, don’t be an ass, let me _up_ —”

“This is _training_ , if you can't remember one simple throw you shouldn’t be an ARC—”

Agen digs his fingers into the silver-veined bark, smiling a little. Pushes upright, flicking his hair back behind his shoulder, and pulls his outer robe off, draping it over a branch. “A trooper in distress,” he says, stepping forward. “I believe Jedi are supposed to rectify such things.”

Two pairs of dark eyes snap to him, and Fives's widen with glee. He wriggles harder, like a landed fish, and cries, “General Kolar, help! I'm being overrun!”

Echo splutters in offense, hitching his hands up higher. “ _Fives_! Fight your own battles for once—”

Agen moves, lunging low, and Echo clearly makes a calculated decision as to which opponent is more dangerous. He lets go of Fives, spins, and grabs Agen's forearms, twisting to slam him into the ground on his back. Agen used to wrestle Mace when they were padawans, though, and being pinned by a bulkier opponent is hardly something new. He gets a knee in Echo’s chest, a foot on the ground, and summersaults them right over as Echo yelps. Throwing his weight sideways, he rolls them before Echo can get his bearings back—

Feels a hand close around his horn, shocking enough to jar the breath from his lungs half a second before Echo’s weight driving him into the ground does. He hits hard, and Echo leans over him, holding him still by the horn, one hand tucked up under his chin in mimicry of a blaster.

“Surrender, Jedi,” he intones in a ridiculously deep voice, mocking the Separatist general they just killed. “I have you at my mercy.”

“ _Echo_ ,” Fives says, sounding like he’s torn between horror and laughter. “General Kolar is a _Zabrak_.”

Echo blinks, clearly not understanding. “I noticed—”

“Didn’t you ever listen to any of El-Les’s lectures?” Fives demands, only a little mocking. “ _Don’t touch his horns_.”

Agen blinks back to some semblance of sense, then tips his head, meeting Echo’s wide eyes. “Not unless you're intending to do something about it,” he says, a little dry, and raises a brow at Echo, who’s still very much sitting on top of him. Those fingers around his horn are a tease, a clear reminder of the last time anyone touched him there. Eeth had been gentle, gentler than Agen wanted; objectively, Echo’s grip is firmer, much more his type, but—

Well. If Echo doesn’t know why not to grab a Zabrak by the horns without an offer of breakfast the following morning ready, Agen is hardly about to hold him to the implied proposal.

“What? They're handy,” Echo protests, but he lets go, sits back like he can't decide whether to get off of Agen or not.

Fives groans, loud and pointed. “Why are you so _stupid_ ,” he says in frustration. “I'm going to go cry at Cooker until you _stop_.” He shoves to his feet, grabs his towel, and stalks into the undergrowth, not even bothering to look back.

“Uh,” Echo says, clearly caught off guard. “Sorry, sir? I didn’t realize.” He slides off, and Agen gives himself a moment to simply breathe, then rolls up to sitting and shakes his head.

“If you didn’t know, I’ll hardly hold you to anything,” he says, and Echo gives him a cautious look that makes Agen raise a brow at him. “But in the future, avoid such tactics.”

“Why?” Echo asks, a little mulish. “There are Zabaks fighting for the Seps, and it _works_.”

Agen snorts, amused. Echo is stubborn, strong-willed, and independent; he would make a good Zabrak himself. “Because if you pin a Zabrak with their horns, you're saying that you want to take them. Sexually,” he says, and watches as Echo’s eyes widen, and then he flushes dull red all at once. “And if you do it _after_ you have been having sex, you're implying you want to handfast them.”

“I. _Take them_ ,” Echo repeats, horrified, and his voice cracks. “General Kolar, I didn’t—I'm sorry, I wasn’t—”

About as Agen thought. He inclines his head, and says, “You weren’t aware. It’s all right, Echo.” He rises to his feet, brushing off his robes, and offers Echo a hand. “I wouldn’t be offended by something like that.”

Echo swallows visibly, and that thread of something upset and awkward is still riding him, sharp like mortification. He looks away, and Agen pauses, watching him. Hurt, caused by his explanation, and perhaps it was the only logical way to clear matters up, but Agen still regrets. He’s always been told that he’s too blunt.

“Echo,” he says quietly.

“Yes, General Kolar?” Echo asks quickly, all but coming to attention. He’s acting very different from the headstrong, eager ARC who was right on Agen's heels throughout the whole attack, who never wavered and dragged him out of danger more than once with a grim sort of glee that Agen could only admire. Fives is sweeter, a little more idealistic, naturally draws the other troopers to him, but Echo—

Like Eeth’s too-soft touch, no matter how welcome and pleasurable, Fives isn't what captures Agen's attention.

Stepping forward, Agen reaches out, touching the curve of Echo’s shoulder. “Forgive me,” he says quietly. “I should have spoken less tersely. If I had thought you meant such a gesture as it is taken among my people on Iridonia, I would have accepted. But I thought it best to correct any misconceptions before an enemy takes advantage.”

Echo freezes, hand halfway raised. Stares, blank, for a long, long moment before he finally lifts his head and says, “ _Sir_? You’d _accept it_?”

Agen frowns at him. “Of course,” he says. “I am not allowed to approach anyone under my current command, so I was planning to wait to mention it until your upcoming leave.”

Echo doesn’t even seem to be breathing, and the only thing Agen can feel from him is reverberating shock. A little concerned, he takes a step back to give him room, and says, “Again, I apologize. Any advances on my part have no bearing on our workings as a squad, and I expect nothing from you—”

As quick as a striking snake, Echo lashes out. Agen braces himself, expecting a slap, a punch—

Hands fist around his horns, shove him back. His spine meets the tree trunk behind him with a hard thud, but there's no time for concern, no space for worry. Echo uses the grip on his horns to pull his head down, and their mouths collide in a bruising kiss. Agen moans, startled, too aware of the swamping wave of desire that washes through Echo and rings in Agen's bones, almost impossible to separate from his own. He moans, and Echo’s breath hitches. He tightens his grip even more, drops to his knees and drags Agen down with him, forcing him back against the trunk until he can lean up and over him, taking complete control of the kiss.

It’s _good_. Agen strains up against the hold just to feel Echo shove him back, bites at Echo’s mouth and lets him deepen the kiss with teasing flicks of his tongue, incautious scrapes of his teeth. His hands are unyielding, and Agen pushes against him for one more moment, testing, before he gives in with a groan, going slack in Echo’s hold.

Instantly, Echo lifts his head, breathless, mouth bruised. “Agen?” he asks, and the flicker of uncertainty at his own daring makes Agen reach up, cup his face and pull him in. He kisses Echo again, soft and light with just an edge of teeth behind it, and feels Echo shudder, want singing like a live wire.

“Echo,” he says. “Do you mean it?”

Echo loosens his grip, pressing his fingertips against the base of Agen's horns. He drags them up, over the smaller ones between them, and Agen closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the wash of sensation that ripples over him.

“This isn't some kind of marriage proposal, is it?” Echo asks, and there's a thread of humor in his voice that makes Agen smile as well.

“Just a taunt,” he answers, and tips his head, kissing the heel of Echo’s palm. “But I assume you were aware of that.”

“I was hoping for foreplay,” Echo admits, and the feeling of his fingers sliding into Agen's long hair makes Agen close his eyes. The first light tug draws a low moan from his throat, and he tips his head into the pressure, letting it spark across his nerves. Echo has a firm grip, and he isn't letting go.

“In that case, you're successful,” Agen says roughly, and catches Echo’s elbows, pulling him in as he falls back. Echo settles over him, still gripping his hair with one hand, and draws his fingers up Agen's horn. It’s a light touch, almost tentative, and Agen snorts, leaning up to gently tap his forehead against Echo’s.

“Hold tightly,” he says. “I won't break. Zabraks are sturdy.”

Echo takes a breath, then locks his fingers around the horn in an immovable grip. “Can I…”

He trails off, but Agen can feel the roil of want and base sort of greedy desire, the desperation to get his hands on skin. It echoes Agen's own, and he smiles, pulling Echo down to kiss him again, deep and intent.

“Anything,” he promises, and Echo curls over him, fits their mouths together desperately, and doesn’t let go.


End file.
